


fasHUN

by silvered_glass



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Anxiety, Bad Puns, Blow Jobs, Boss/Employee Relationship, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Office Sex, POV Alternating, Recreational Drug Use, of course Harry lives on a canal boat, v minor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-25 23:18:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19755796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvered_glass/pseuds/silvered_glass
Summary: A few years ago, Aimee and Nick had the wild idea to launch a fashion retail website; fasHUN. It's become utterly massive, and here they are, years later, at the head of an international fashion (and financial) empire, when all Nick had really wanted to do was to find an easier way of sleeping his way through the male model population of the world. Well, now he’s a sort of serious CEO always on the brink of a meltdown, especially with Aimee going on maternity leave for a few months and his E.A, Gillian hiring a way-too-charming, way-too-clumsy frustrated fashion writer moonlighting as a personal shopper named Harry Styles to help her deal with Nick’s schedule (and Nick.)





	fasHUN

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kili_M](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kili_M/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy this Kili_M. I was so excited to get to write for you M!! Your prompt was so good I have used it for my summary - hope that is okay! I enjoyed writing this, thank you!!
> 
> Thank you to L-O-L, a massive thank you to Writ & Shifty for all of your advice and beta/alpha-ing. Also thanks to the exchange mods. You are all very good looking.
> 
> Disclaimer – I have literally no knowledge of fashion industry things so it’s all wildly inaccurate I have no doubt & apologise for this. Also, I have no experience of what it’s like to live on a narrow boat, but I watched a lot of YouTube videos...

™ ™ ™

Nick’s _that_ bored that he is almost about to get something down from the large bookcases lining the side wall. He does have emails to reply to of course, but the whole point of bunking off work and meeting Aimee on level one of Selfridges in the green suite of the men’s personal shopping department is that he’s not _meant_ to be getting on with work. He’s meant to be falling behind. And trying on trousers. 

Nick stands up and moves across the room to look at the artwork a little closer. The paint is flatter in dimension up close than it appears further away, and he reaches a hand up and ghosts it along a line of pink splashed across the canvas.

“Oh! No! Please don’t touch the picture, sir – ah, Grimmy! I mean – Mr–.”

Nick turns around and takes off his orange-lensed glasses. “Sir Grimmy?” he interrupts delightedly and takes in the slightly flustered looking youth in front of him. He works here clearly, dressed all in black with a name badge, carrying a tray with a jug of water, a bottle of champagne and various glasses. He bends his knees, keeping his back straight and looking directly at Nick while he deposits the tray on the coffee table. 

“Sir,” the youth amends and seems to be struggling to control his mouth. It’s a good mouth, pink and wide and hints of a dimple beside it as he bites down on a smile. The youth’s hair is a little long, curling over his ears, and he’s at first glance the kind of good looking that makes it hard to look at him directly but also hard to look away. 

Nick raises an eyebrow. “Sir?” he repeats sardonically. “If you’re going to call me sir, you’ll need a safe word to get me not to touch things,” Nick steps closer and reads the name badge pinned to the semi-sheer black shirt the youth is wearing (last season YSL), “Harry?”

Harry barks out a laugh and Nick enjoys watching his face properly give into smiling. Two dimples. Nick wonders if Harry will be assisting him with whatever trousers it is that Aimee wants him to try on and if Nick can get away with pretending he doesn’t know his inside leg measurement.

“I’m Nick,” Nick says and holds his hand out.

“Oh,” says Harry and after a moment takes Nick’s hand in a nice confident grasp. “I know. Mr Grimshaw, fashun dot com CEO.”

“That’s the one,” Nick agrees and doesn’t let go of Harry’s hand. “And are you my personal shopper of the day?”

“Ah, no.” Harry shakes his head. His hair is quite bouncy.

“So, you just pop in with the drinks and instructions not to touch pink bits?”

Harry’s confused for a moment, but then glances behind Nick at the painting and then back again, his mouth curving into a grin.

“Mr Grimshaw—”

“Not sir?”

Harry looks at him straight in the eye. “I’m just here to help, _sir_.” Nick could get used to being looked at direct in the eye while being helped. “And to protect the art works from being manhandled,” Harry finishes.

Nick’s just opened his mouth to reply when the door is flung open. Nick releases Harry’s hand, jumps back and turns towards Aimee who’s barrelling through the door, pregnant stomach and three bright yellow bags first.

“Oh good!” Aimee exclaims taking them both in. Harry steps forward and takes the bags from Aimee’s hands and she presents her cheek to Nick to kiss hello. “You’ve met!”

“Hi, Aimes, get a little distracted on the way?”

“I just bought three pairs of two hundred pound Gucci trainers sized for a four to six-month-old because they made me start crying,” Aimee says shaking her head as she flops onto one of the love seats. She kicks her heels off and unashamedly puts her feet on the coffee table sighing, “Oh, my ankles.”

“Fucking hell, Aimes, I might cry too.” Nick laughs. “What on earth.”

“They’ll never even be walked in!” Aimee drawls through her giggles, “Ian is going to kill me. Oh, thank you, Harry. Gillian should be here soon then we can get started.” Harry has settled Aimee’s various shopping bags and provided her a glass of what looks like lightly sparkling water with mint and lemon from the jug on the tray. 

“What am I buying?” Nick asks sitting down on the other sofa and nodding at Harry when he holds the champagne bottle up in offer.

“Oh.” Aimee looks at Harry, a little surprised, and then at Nick. “Well, not buying as such, hiring we say, H.R wouldn’t be too happy if we start actually indenturing people.”

“I’m confused,” Nick tells Harry as he takes the glass of champagne he’s offering him. 

“Um,” Harry offers, his eyes wide and nervously looking at Aimee.

“I thought Gellz would have told you. We’ve found the man who’s going to save us all from this child.” Aimee points to the swell of her belly.

“Save us from your child? I’ll be the first to say Ian is a demon of some description, but this isn’t exactly a Rosemary’s Baby situation is it?” Nick turns towards Harry. “Are you a demon hunter?”

“What are you on about Nick? Harry’s going to be your P.A.”

“What about Gellz?”

“Gellz isn’t your P.A, you know, Nick, she’s not even your E.A, really. Plus, she’ll be doing a lot of my role while I’m away, for day to day you need someone else, _Gellz_ needs someone else, and we met Harry. He’s highly recommended by François and his summer contract is up at Selfridges so we are stealing him.”

“Do I get a say?” Nick asks.

“You don’t need one.” Aimee tells him. And that’s probably about right.

“I hate working with new people,” Nick says mulishly. “No offense, Harry, you seem—” he breaks off, every word he wants to say about how Harry seems is highly inappropriate for someone who is apparently going to be working for him. Attractive, cheeky, an intriguing ingénue of a youth, something very tempting to defile, a fine example of the type of slim-hipped young man that first made Nick even vaguely interested in setting up fasHUN back in the day. 

“He seems just your type?” Aimee drawls amusedly.

Nick shoots her a pointed glare. “Just my type of personal assistant man person.”

“That’s the official job title, is it?” Harry grins.

“I’ll make sure that’s what is on your email signature.”

Harry keeps smiling, and Nick sips his champagne for something to do. It’s quite annoying that Gellz and Aimee are making him work with this Harry. 

“So, do you want to interview him or just try on some trousers and trust us?” Aimee asks.

Nick stops looking at Harry and looks at his very pleased with herself best friend and co-CEO. “Well,” Nick says with all the dignity he can muster. He knows she knows _exactly_ what he’s thinking. “I didn’t bring any of my standard interview question form things...”

Aimee laughs. 

“I’ll let François know you are ready, he’s selected some great stuff from the new Futura Off-White collection,” Harry says politely and then grabs his bottom lip with his fingers, as if he’s stopping himself from saying anything else before he leaves the suite.

When the door has closed softly behind Harry’s semi-sheer last season YSL shirt and what Nick is pretty sure is Spring ‘19 Gucci wide leg linen trousers, he turns to Aimee and raises his eyebrows expectantly.

“Well,” she starts, looking delighted. “At least there’s going to be plenty of office drama for Gillian and Henry to keep me updated with.”

“I have no idea what you are insinuating,” Nick says and doesn’t meet her eyes. Staring instead at the pink bits painting hanging behind Aimee’s tangerine hair. Pink bits. Fucking Hell. 

™

Aimee went on a babymoon. That was the issue. What even is a babymoon? Nick remembers when Jane had Liv. No baby showers, no babymoons, no one-billion Euros per year in sales company to keep running. Babymoons happen four weeks before maternity leave starts and apparently take five days. Five days which fall in the fortnight before London Fashion Week, during which fasHUN is relaunching their app. 

The app is the main driver of sales these days. It used to be the website, but somewhere along the line the app took over. And while Nick is never off his phone, for some reason it still surprises him when he sees the sales figures each week, month and quarter. 

He’s aware that Aimee gave him a detailed hand-over and showed him where all the project notes are in the cloud. To be honest, Nick should already know most of the stuff in the hand over. But Nick’s not good at details all the time. He’s better on the run. Better responding in the moment, not at preparing.

“Gellz, when’s my meeting with the design group?” he calls out.

She doesn’t answer. There’s a cautious knock on the open glass door and a soft cough.

Nick looks up. 

“Harry!” 

“Hi, Mr Grimshaw.”

“Call me Nick,” Nick says on auto pilot. He knew Harry was going to appear this week, he’d been told his start date and all of that. But Nick had been out of the office yesterday and, _details_ . Especially dark curly haired, _just_ tall enough to walk, very handsome faced youthful details. He unconsciously but deliberately decided not to think about those details. Can you do that? Unconsciously but deliberately do something. Nick should ponder this. Should not ponder Harry’s face. “Or Grimmy, Grim. Call me any of that,” he adds on, a little delayed.

“Just not sir?” Harry tries with a little quirk of his mouth.

Nick draws his eyes away from Harry’s lips. “Not at the office,” he quips despite all his best intentions. “Are you tall enough to walk?”

“Um?” Harry looks down the length of his houndstooth trousers. “Don’t want to brag but I’ve been walking since the days when I was I much shorter.”

“Catwalk. You are tall enough, too. Anyway, sorry. Being very unfocused, I am,” Nick says unable to stop looking at Harry.

“You aren’t going to make me model something, are you?”

“No,” Nick confirms.

“I’d fall over, that’s all,” Harry says quickly.

“We don’t do catwalk, just photoshoots,” Nick continues.

“So, I do have to do a photoshoot?” Harry sounds confused.

Nick feels like that’s probably fair; he’s confused himself to be honest. It’s been years. Years surrounded by lovely, beautiful people and Nick thought he had perfected the art of not being turned into a flustered possibly creepy perv in front of them all. But, of course, of all people to undo him it would have to be his P.A.

He takes a nice calming breath and asks, “When is the meeting with the app design team?” 

“In fifteen minutes, then you have a lunch at Soho, Greek Street, with, um, this says Aunty?”

“Rita. Okay, and this afternoon?”

“Then you have a meeting in Notting Hill at Stella McCartney, I think I am meant to come to that with you?”

Nick takes a sip of his now very cold coffee. “Yes, I’ll need you to sort of take pictures of things, the ones that we are going to list so we can plan campaigns and such.”

“So, I will meet you in Notting Hill?”

“Come to lunch, that’ll be easier.” Nick taps at his keyboard, still trying to find the briefing Aimee prepared for the app meeting.

“Oh.” Harry looks surprised. “I. Okay. Yes.”

“You don’t have to, not work or anything, but it’ll be fun, you’ll love Rita.”

“I brought a spinach wrap in,” Harry says.

“Well, you can bring it I guess?” Nick laughs.

“I’ll make do.” Harry smiles. Even a polite smile at his boss has the damn dimples. Nick takes another sip of his coffee and grimaces.

“That reminds me, Gillian has left me lots of instructions, but some things I need, what is your coffee order, I need your clothes sizes as well, including shoulder and inside leg and sleeve and pants size, and also your three favourite takeaway places and what is your home postcode, I need to check when your bin men come, and when I have to wake you? Do you prefer a phone call or a knock on the door, and oh! Preferred—”

“What?” Nick splutters. He’s lost it. “My bin men? My pants size! Harry, what is going on?” Nick laughs.

“Well I already have eight emails offering to send you clothes but asking for sizes, and Gillian didn’t leave those, and I don’t want you miss your bin day.”

“Harry, you don’t have to put my bins out.”

“No,” Harry agrees. “Maybe set a reminder on your phone.”

“That would be helpful. I always forget.”

“I saw your Instagram story.” Harry smiles, and maybe looks a little pink. Nick had posted a story that morning of him in the hall mirror, wearing nothing but his pants and a good drenching of rain, holding his bin bags. He’d just run out of the house on hearing a truck go by at six in the morning. Nick had thought it was the dust men. It wasn’t. And Nick had instead just traumatised a lady across the road who’d been trying to get her Jack Russel to do his business.

“I like a double shot latte, almond milk or soy, the rest you can ask me in the car to lunch. Right now, I need to find this brief Aimee made.”

Harry comes around the desk. “May I?” he asks, stepping into Nick’s space and bending down over the laptop. Nick rolls his chair back a little. Harry smells nice. He types deliberately. His fingers are nice, long and decorated with a variety of heavy rings and some soft pink nail polish. He smells nice. He’s got the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up over his forearms and Nick stares at the nipples of a mermaid who seems to have a patch of pubic hair above a tail. Jesus. He smells nice. Nick swallows. 

“Here we go, she saves briefings by time and date of meeting, but with American dates,” Harry explains stepping away as a file opens on the laptop screen.

Nick breathes in deeply. “Of course. Thanks Harry. Let’s go learn about apps.”

™

Gillian’s back from Shanghai the next day. She strolls into Nick’s office with a carton of cigarettes, a green juice and her laptop.

“God, I love the light you have in here, it’s so big as well, I’m sure you could fit in a desk for me. Have you seen the invites from Kim?” she says in a rush, dropping her laptop on Nick’s desk and throwing the carton of cigarettes at him.

“You have Aimee’s office for the next year. I think hers is even bigger anyway. Oh, did you get me a duty free present?” 

“I did,” Gellz replies sounding proud.

“I quit, Gillian. You know that,” Nick says putting down the contract he was reading and smiling at her properly.

“Mmm, we both did, didn’t we?” 

“Did the Dior invite come this morning? I haven’t had my mail in yet.”

Gillian has started clacking away on her laptop and she looks up at this. “Where is Harry?”

“I, um.” Nick swallows. “I told him last night to come in late.”

“Last night!” Gillian’s eyes are wide in shock and she starts shaking her head. “Nick, Jesus. What have you done?”

“Nothing!” Nick protests. “We had the preview at Stella, and it went for ages and then after that I was starving, and he looked about to faint, so I took him to the pub for our tea.”

“Nick,” she says, sounding very knowing.

“Well, we got a car together as he said he lived near Camden, and then we were going past _The Queen_ so—”

“None of this makes any sense logistically. Also, I am sure Harry told me he lived near Warwick Avenue, because we walked to the tube together after our first interview and he got on the Bakerloo Line.” Gillian is looking at him like he’s done something quite wrong.

“What?” Nick asks defensively.

“When did him having a sleep-in come up? Leave him with the dogs, did you?”

“What! No!” Nick rolls his eyes. “Jesus, I told him last night, after we both left the pub, _separately_. He was very tired, and I said he could start a bit later.”

“Mmm, okay.”

“You sound very disbelieving but for fucks sake. Think a little better of me, please.”

Gillian softens, looks up properly and gives Nick a smile. “Oh, Grim I do I do. It’s just I had some doubts. Aimee said not to worry but he is _just_ your type.”

“Don’t, please. There are hundreds of good looking, perfectly bone structured, slim hipped men in London who are my type, and even though his lips are the most distracting—"

Gillian makes a sort of laughing groan. “Please don’t fuck the P.A Nick,” she says.

Nick sighs. “I won’t, but maybe you could have picked someone—”

“Maybe you could not objectify him?”

“I’m not,” Nick says mulishly. “It’s hard not to notice him though. Also, he’s nice to talk to?”

“You are asking me or telling me?”

“Telling I guess.” Nick taps his fingers on top of a sketch pad sitting on the desk. “We didn’t talk about work at dinner, started talking about geese for some reason, and then he told me some story about a petting zoo his friends had got married at, how they all had to pose in their wedding finery with the animals, and somehow then I was telling him about Miami, but then also we talked about when I took Mum there after —"

“Nick,” Gillian interrupts. Nick looks up at her and she hesitates, seems to reconsider what she had been going to say and eventually says, “Well, I hope he gets in soon because this invite Kim has sent is utterly wild, can you hold a fashion show in a laser tag centre?”

™

The next two weeks are as busy as any other two weeks. Aimee’s back from baby-mooning and the app testing is all finalised and ready to launch. Nick signs an exclusive distribution deal for the upcoming Vetements x Stussy collaboration, pops home for his sister’s birthday, signs off on thematic concepts for the first lot of winter editorials, and remembers to put the bins out the night before the dustmen come. 

Harry and him are working together fine. He’s bloody amazing at stopping people from getting into Nick’s office, which is both brilliant and horrid. Nick’s always welcomed a distraction to be honest. The less random visitors he has the more staring out the glass door into the alcove where Harry sits. He’s got a nice profile does Harry. He’s utterly charming, wonderful for walking up to a group of people at a lunch or a launch that Nick has been trying to extract himself from for five minutes and somehow getting Nick free before Nick even realises what’s happening. As a result, Nick is finding his workdays, that inevitably always finish with some event to attend are now ending by between 8 to 9pm. They keep having their tea together. There was an early precedent set, that’s all. And now Nick keeps getting free of these events in good time, it’s nice to go and eat something that isn’t miniature and on a tray. Harry took him to this place that had the best Pho Nick’s ever tasted. They both tried durian cake for desert for the hell of it. It’s been fun. Nick’s been having fun. 

Harry’s quick at learning things, especially important morning time things. He’s learnt Nick’s coffee order and learnt that Nick never has a pass to access the building. So when Nick arrives at the office at 7:45am on Wednesday, Harry is waiting in the foyer. He’s leant up against the wall just inside the door, wearing an outfit the colour of pink lemonade. When he sees Nick, he drops the security pass he’s holding in his hands before stumbling while picking it up and eventually manages to swipe Nick into the building.

“Hello, Harry,” Nick says unwrapping his frankly huge scarf from his neck. “You look like a lovely pastel flamingo.”

Harry laughs. “Because of how I was leaning against the wall, with my leg up,” he says. “That’s funny. You look like an English bulldog with all your necks.”

Nick stops unwinding his scarf and looks at Harry incredulously. “You are dressed in a pair of pink flared corduroy trousers and a pink, what is that”

“McQueen, it’s vintage, I think it’s a cloak, maybe a poncho? I got it from a shop in Santa Monica, it was in the lucky dip bin, would you believe?”

“I would, Harry. But my point remains, you look like a flamingo because you are wearing pink.”

“ _Lovely_ flamingo,” Harry mutters.

Nick deliberately doesn’t hear. He probably shouldn’t be calling Harry lovely should he? “And you just accused me of having many necks.”

“Oh, not you, your scarf.”

“Why would you compare me to an animal based on what I’m wearing, but me saying you are like a flamingo made you think that I based that on how you were standing, not what _you_ are wearing?” Nick can’t get his head around Harry’s head sometimes. Or his face. It’s still troubling him. He looks a little flushed, a touch pink cheeked, and he laughs turning away towards the lift.

“I don’t know. Sorry. Um, Aimee’s here already, there’s a proper breakfast, it’s sick, eggs ‘n all, not just pastries. And the caterers confirmed lunch with me and the flowers and the present from Tiffany’s is up in your office.” Harry recites.

Nick reaches out a hand to Harry’s shoulder. He turns back towards Nick easily. “Sorry, Harry. I wasn’t teasing,” Nick says. 

Harry pokes his cheek with the security pass in his hand for a moment and then says slowly, “I know, it’s okay. I just don’t know how my brain works sometimes when you’re around.” He says it thoughtfully. Almost as if he’s not conscious of the fact he’s answering Nick. And Nick can only think about the fact that Harry’s upper arm feels quite nice under his hand. Warm and solid and strong and Nick would quite like to slide his hand up over his bicep to Harry’s shoulder. Maybe pull him in closer. 

He certainly shouldn’t be thinking these thoughts. For fucks sake, what is Nick’s brain when he’s around Harry anyway.

“Eggs you said?” Nick smiles, the lift doors opening behind them.

They stand across from each other in the lift. Nick stares at the numbers by the lift doors and then after a moment too long looks up over to Harry. He’s already looking at him, and when Nick meets his eyes, he smirks a little and lifts his left leg to put his foot on the wall behind him. He does an exaggerated wobble and looks very pleased with himself. It’s a damn good smirk, really. And hot. But it’s so silly, and endearing. Jesus. Nick thinks he’s possibly turning pink now as well.

Aimee is proper going on her maternity leave. So, today is a specially scheduled day of meetings and pow wows and idea sessions and Aimee telling Nick, and Gillian, and Henry (who is Global Buying Director,) and Pixie (Head of Off-Season aka fasHUN’s vintage and outlet divisions,) and Fiona (Head of Customer Experience,) and Alexa (Chief Marketing and Design Officer,) and the new Chief Information Officer — whose name Nick always gets wrong — what to do while she’s away. They all know already; it’s all worked out. But today is sort of like one big encouragement session. That starts with a breakfast meeting.

Aimee is much more about the operational side of fasHUN. Nick’s always been about relationships. These days there are many Group Brand Relationship Managers employed by the business. But there are key accounts, design houses, that Nick is and always will be involved with. He’s good at future visions and conceptual thinking and predicting trends. He’s good at coming up with another thing that fasHUN can do. But operational things, the ins and outs of how to make the concepts a reality, that’s not his strong suit. Hence why Aimee and him are such an amazing two headed CEO monster.

Nick is settled with a coffee and a plate of eggs and grilled tomatoes. Ian is here as well; he used to work for fasHUN but he set up an independent financial consultancy when Aimee and him started dating. Now they are married and having a baby. That’s what you do if you like someone you work with apparently, you set up whole other businesses so you can date them. Nick stabs a tomato with his fork and a bit of juice and seed flies off onto the table. Harry glances down at it and gives Nick an amused smile. 

“Slippery little suckers,” Nick says out of the corner of his mouth.

Harry clacks away at the keyboard of his laptop and then turns it so Nick can see _DID YOU JUST QUOTE PRETTY WOMAN TO ME??_ written on his open document. 

Nick grins and nods and spears another tomato. When he looks up, Pixie is watching him.

By 11am Gillian is doing a presentation on the new distribution centre in Shanghai, and for the millionth time Nick gets that hot nervous feeling in his stomach about just how fucking big fasHUN has got. He tunes out a little. Allows himself to watch Harry’s hands as he types. He has tattoos. Nick knows this, knows where they are, but he doesn’t know what they are. He glimpses them on his torso through the sheerest of Harry's shirts before he decidedly looks away each time.

There is an office lunch at 1pm. It’s huge; the staff overflow out of the big meeting room and into the kitchen. There are screens set up for a live feed to the other fasHUN locations: the distribution centre in Charlton, and despite the time differences, New Jersey, Hong Kong and Shanghai. Of course, it wasn’t obligatory for those staff to tune in but Nick’s happy to be waving at a good turnout of faces in each location. Nick makes a very short speech, gives Aimee her flowers and the Tiffany & Co sterling silver bubble blower that the staff had voted on as a gift. Nick loves it. It’s ridiculous.

Aimee makes a speech. Talks about fasHUN starting in the flat they used to share in a basement in Camden. Nick sleeping on a mattress with boxes of Dior stored underneath it because they had no other space. Aimee talks about the App re-launch the next day, the expansion in Shanghai, her pride and joy in what they do. How fasHUN will always be her first baby. Nick catches her eye and smiles broadly. She’s amazing, is Aimee. 

There’s catering for everyone, Nick sneaks three mini-sausage rolls to start and stands back watching part of their massive I.T team make short work of the falafel salads. Pixie sidles up as soon as he’s finished the third one.

“Wish you didn’t eat meat.”

“Sorry, Pix, can’t say no to a sausage, me,” Nick quips.

“I was wondering, actually—”

Nick knows what she’s going to say. He doesn’t bloody get it. If they all think it’s so hilarious that Harry is ‘just his type’, why’d they hire him? Just so they could tease him for nine months? All his nearest and dearest friends, who he works with in the sort of unreal juggernaut that fasHUN has become. People he trusts with his life and his future and the future of the increasing number of employees fasHUN has. _So_ many employees, even more now that they are opening a distribution centre in Shanghai. Feels too big really. Nick reaches out for the countertop in front of him. Can’t remember what he was annoyed at for a moment.

“Are you okay, Nick? You look a bit pale all of a sudden,” Pixie is saying, instead of anything about Harry.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. You were about to say something about how my P.A is just my type?”

Pixie turns him, so they are face to face and cocks her head looking at him. “Nick, you know you can talk to me about anything.”

“Of course, Pix. I rely on it. You know that. Did I tell you about the man from Christie’s I met on Saturday? I think there’s room for collaboration with them for your division.”

Pixie’s eyes light up. “Ohh, explain.” 

And Nick does, trying as hard as he can to talk about vintage clothing auctions and how fasHUN could partner with Christie’s, and where their logistics network and customer database in Hong Kong and China could be vital to the relationship. Tries not to let his eyes slide over to where Harry is laughing with what’s-his-name, that damn new head of I.T. 

A little after 3pm Nick is sitting in a room with Aimee, whose shoes are off, feet up on another chair. Harry, Henry and Niall, the new Chief of Information Technology, are there too. Niall’s very young.

“Irish boy genius,” he says easily when Nick blurts this observation out.

Nick’s met him before, of course, but only at the first interview. Nick was in Hong Kong during the second, and New York during the third. He’s from ASOS. He’s good. He _is_ a boy genius. Nick knows this. Nick didn’t know that he’d be quite so personable. Harry keeps laughing a lot at his jokes and smiling encouragingly when Niall stands up to make his presentation. 

“So essentially, you can all continue to think of fasHUN as a fashion retailer, if you wish, meanwhile my role is to think of it as an app, as a website, as code, as programming. And the value you have in this is huge. This is your true product — the way you sell.” Niall waves his phone around.

Nick doesn’t really understand. Well, he does. But also, he doesn’t really like it, is the thing. He does want to be a fashion retailer. He doesn’t want his product to actually be the app on people’s phones. But the app on people’s phones employs a lot of people. Nick employs a lot of people. Jesus. He reaches out to grab the edge of the table. He is not having a good day today. Probably the reality of Aimee going. That’s it. Harry taps away methodically at his keyboard taking notes and Nick looks at the cross on his hand. He wonders what Harry is going to wear to the party tomorrow night. He has a lovely suit Stella sent over after the viewing a few weeks ago. He’ll wear that. Maybe with that pink shirt he has. Pink is a good colour.

It’s about a quarter to seven when Harry and Nick finally make it back to Nick’s office. He’d walked Aimee outside and kissed her goodbye. The whole crew of them had. Loaded her into a car with at least ten bunches of flowers. Harry has a truck load of gifts to send on to her and Ian’s house tomorrow. As Aimee had driven off everyone else had headed off to various places. Alexa had a last-minute venue inspection for the launch the next day, Henry went with her. Pixie was off home. Nick and Harry had silently stood in the lift again. Nick was tired. 

“I’m so fucking tired,” he says stopping in the middle of the office. He’d been heading to his desk, but the sofas in the corner by the window look very good right now. 

“Where are you going?” Harry asks.

Nick points at the sofas. “Just going to have a little rest, the sofas look lonely. All soft velvety navy coverings. A little Gucci throw cushion to rest my oldman head on.” 

“Not old.” Harry rolls his eyes lightly. “And not sleeping, yet. I’ve got four emails that you have to reply to personally and then you can go, I handled the rest during the day.”

“Oh, you were doing that. I thought you were talking notes,” Nick mumbles and sits down on the sofa.

Harry makes a flat sort of grimace and snags Nick’s laptop off his desk and brings it over to him. He sits down next to Nick, putting the computer on Nick’s lap. “Don’t lie down, Nick,” he instructs.

Nick blinks at him and tries it on, “Can’t I just dictate them to you or summat? Secretary?”

“I’m not a secretary,” Harry says. “I’m a personal assistant.”

“Assist me to do a dictation.” Nick groans and tries to flop down on to his side. Harry grabs his arm and pulls him back up. 

“I’ll show you a video of Cardi-B making noises if you at least look at the first two.”

“I do like her noises,” Nick says and sits up properly. They are closer now, sunk in next to each other and Harry’s leg is against Nick’s. Nick could put his head on Harry’s shoulder and just live there maybe. 

Harry taps the lid of the laptop. “Come on.”

™

“Play Mariah, Annie!” Nick yells into her ear.

“Absolutely not, babe,” Annie says shaking her head and knocking her hip against his. Nick sips at his drink. The App launch has gone well. Nick made a speech, Alexa did too. Even Sadie, who is Director of the Board and gave Aimee and Nick their start-up loan when FasHUN had begun, had said a few words. And for an event that had a PowerPoint presentation it’s been bloody good. A huge turn out, the room is crowded and the vibe is great. Nick is certain that none of the fashion houses they retail refused their invitation. He doesn’t think any famous person or trying-to-be-famous person did either. There’s a lot of posing going on at the big flower wall near the entrance still.

“Look how popular that flower wall is, at least it got the _influencers_ to stay during the PowerPoint,” Nick had whispered to Harry earlier in the evening as they walked off the stage. 

“It wasn’t PowerPoint!” Harry had said with a laugh. “That was a demonstration video, cost a mint too, I think. High production values for high fashion you know.”

“I liked the juxtaposition of the posh lady on a yacht buying a winter coat,” Nick had told him grinning. “Some real story telling there.”

“On a yacht in Cannes, arranging to have it delivered to her New York address, the magic of fasHUN.” Harry had made little jazz hands and smiled so big. He looked so good when he smiled. 

“It’s ridiculous isn’t it?” Nick had said. And Harry seemed to pause then. They’d been walking off stage and Nick knew he had to go say hello to whoever wanted to say hello to him, but it was a bit ridiculous.

“I like this suit,” Harry had said as a reply, and brushed Nick’s shoulder. “I’ll come and make sure you are being rotated equally amongst your public.”

“Thanks, Harry. Oh can I have —"

“You go and speak with Clare Keller from Givenchy, her P.A let me know when I saw her at the cloak room that she doesn’t have a long window to stay at the party. I’ll bring you over a vodka tonic.”

And Harry had. He’d brought him vodka tonics and helped him circulate, cutting in with that perfect timing that Nick can’t thank the gods enough for, and he’d let him know when Aimee and Ian where slipping out home, so Nick could go and kiss them both goodbye. Nick had thought maybe it’d be nice to have a baby and get sore ankles and be allowed to leave parties early. But then Annie had put on Gorgon City and Nick had told Harry he was done working and to bring a bottle of Tequila up to the DJ booth.

Harry’s weaving his way back to them now. He’s wearing a shimmery gauzy shirt and some tailored trousers with a Gucci boot. He’s stopped to talk to Niall. Personable boy-genius Niall.

“Is that your new assistant?” Annie asks.

Nick nods. “Yes. That’s Harry.” 

“You know, I was watching you and him making your rounds, I was thinking, babe, he’s just—”

Nick cuts her off, “Don’t even start, Annie.”

She laughs lowly. “Been said has it?”

“I mean Aimee and Gellz said it before they even hired him. Like one big joke on me. Thing is, he’s bloody nice as well.”

“Well, that’s good?”

“We’ve been having dinners,” Nick admits.

“Dates!” Annie pulls her headphones off both ears and looks at him in shock. “Are you having it off with your P.A, Nick?” She doesn’t sound horrified Nick notices. Just interested, delighted by the gossip. There’s something about her reaction that Nick finds relieving. He doesn’t want to ponder over too much in the moment. But he notices it. Stores it away.

“No, no. ‘Course not, Annie. And they aren’t dates,” Nick insists. “It’s just he’s very good at getting me out of hob-knobbing, seems to always know how to rescue me. Comes over and doesn’t even make excuses just collects all the business cards and leaves mine and smiles at them all and then suddenly every bloody event is much shorter, and I’m left with plenty of time for a proper tea.”

Annie grins wolfishly. “So, you reward him by bringing him along, I see.”

“You don’t at all,” Nick huffs as Annie turns back to her deck. 

“Hiiii!” Harry calls out from behind them and Nick turns around to find him climbing up to the DJ Booth. He must trip or something because he falls into Nick. Which is okay. Nick has nowhere to go, just gets pushed up against the side of the booth, with Harry sort of plastered to his front, a knobbly bottle of tequila in-between them.

“Fuck! Three weeks, that’s a record,” Harry says nonsensically looking up at him. Nick has his hands on his upper arms, his skin warm under the slightly scratchy material. He wonders if that hurts Harry’s nipples. He manages not to ask.

“Three weeks?” he asks instead.

Harry rights himself, standing up straight and looking down on the party and then smiling at Annie. “Hi, I’m Harry, so cool to meet you Annie, feel like I know you. Do people say that? Just from you being on the radio and everything?” 

Annie laughs and sneaks a look to Nick. She’s endeared. He’s endearing. It’s awful. 

“Nice to meet you, babe,” Annie says to Harry and turns back to her decks.

Harry turns towards Nick again, looking him dead in the eye while he uncaps the tequila. Nick swallows. Harry leans in, close enough that Nick can feel Harry’s breath hot on his neck. “To three weeks before I fell over in front of my new boss,” he says and pulls away to take a swig, grimacing and wiping his mouth off with the back of his forefinger. His lips glisten and eyes dance even in the dimmed light of the party.

Nick reaches for the bottle and pauses just before taking his sip. Annie drops Adelphi Music Factory into the mix and Harry whoops. Nick slams the bottle back and lets the burn of the tequila soften his own thoughts about falling.

™ ™ ™™ ™ ™

“So, it’s Paris in a week for both of us, then I go to Milan, that’s just a couple of days?” Nick asks him.

“Milan is only overnight really,” Harry confirms. 

Nick’s not looking at him, all his attention focused on his laptop and so Harry has a moment to watch him. Nick looks a little tired. Harry knows he was up very early on a video conference with Gillian who’s out in Shanghai. He still looks good though, lashes soft beside the angle of his cheekbones.

Nick nods. “Good. Then I will need you to come to New York, but that should be all the travel for the next eight weeks.” Nick looks up and Harry feels a little warm. As if Nick would be able to tell that he was _looking_ looking at him, not just paying attention like a dutiful employee.

Harry’s been in working at Nick’s desk all morning. Has been working in Nick’s office quite often this past month or so. He comes in to deliver Nick his coffee and acai bowl, or porridge, or sneaky egg and bacon butty, and run through the day’s schedule. Whenever it’s a day with some morning office hours Nick will tell Harry to sit down. And Harry will. Somehow, they’ll both start working and a morning will pass by.

It works quite well; Harry learnt quickly that a lot of his job is managing people’s access to Nick. Nick is very friendly, and very busy, and genuinely very interested in having a chat with everyone. And as far as Harry can work out this means that he spends a lot of time working on projects that don’t _need_ him to be in the room or having conversations that he doesn’t _have_ to be present for. And while Harry would never think to suggest to Nick what he should be doing, he was also under the strictest orders from Aimee and Gillian to make Nick work less.

“Your main duties are getting him to leave parties,” Aimee had said at Harry’s interview. She’d been smelling Gillian’s glass of wine at the time. It possibly gave Harry the wrong impression about what sort of work he was being interviewed for.

“I’m not a sober companion? I’m a personal shopper. Well, assistant personal shopper.”

Gillian had laughed and taken her glass back from Aimee. “Ignore her, she’s pregnant and of all things craves dry white wine but can’t have it obviously. And, Nick’s not an out of control partier—”

“He has moments, we all have moments, you have moments I am sure,” Aimee had drawled, somehow making Harry feel like she knew every single shot at a bar or line in a bathroom he’d ever done and was both proud of him and telling him off all at once. “But that’s not it. Nick stays too long talking to people.”

Gillian had interrupted, “He doesn’t know how to say no, or goodbye—”

Aimee had taken over, “He’s awful, he’ll try to circulate, and he can’t move on from someone, so he ends up taking them with him to the next little conversation, and you’ll have two or more competitors both talking over each other trying to lock him in for a proper meeting. It’s a nightmare for everyone.”

“And Nick is never home at a good time. No sleep, never up to date with Bake-Off.”

“He has dogs. Harry. Dogs.” Aimee had hit her hand on the tabletop as if this was the end of the argument.

“So, I’ll be walking the dogs?” 

Harry hasn’t walked Nick’s dogs. But he does find himself sort of walking Nick. Shepherding him at times. He knew he was doing it right, even in the first week, when Nick had expressed surprise at how early he was leaving some perfume launch and they’d ended up grabbing dinner.

Harry had known who Nick was of course. Nick is a famous non-famous person. He’s rich and fashionable and he’s at events and on red carpets and on the telly. Harry has followed him on Instagram for years. But that Nick is a very different Nick from the one who Harry finds himself spending more of his working day in the company of than is strictly necessary. Nick is lovely, but also awful. Just that morning he had broken his phone screen while trying to put a protective case on it. And the night before when they’d had dinner after a launch party Nick had refused to order carbs but eaten every single one of Harry’s chips. 

So there is working in Nick’s office together, and grabbing dinner together when they get out of an event earlier than expected. Lots of being together. 

“So, you what, just go and whisper in his ear that it’s time to go home whenever you feel like a fancy tea?” Gemma had asked last Sunday as they sat out in the sun on her patio.

“Excuse me, what kind of a boy do you take your little brother for? _I_ took him to Hai-Ha a few weeks ago.”

“Oh! They do the best Pho there!” Gemma had exclaimed. “We should order some takeaway for dinner.” she emphasised this by taking a few Hula-Hoops from the bowl on the table.

“We should,” Harry agreed. “Also remind me to get some extra summer rolls so I don’t have to cook for a night or two.”

“How is the boat?”

“It’s fine, lovely. I just hate cooking for only me.”

“’Gonna invite the boss over to board your vessel?” Gemma has said with an exaggerated eyebrow wiggle.

“Oh my god. Stop. I only told you this because I wanted actual advice.”

“Oh, Harry,” she sighed. “I’ve never thought my billionaire boss was fit and wanted to have his babies; I can’t help.”

Harry had put his cider down. “I don’t want to have his babies, I just want to know how to deal with all these flights and hotels and Paris, Gem! He’s going to be taking me to Paris!”

Gemma had laughed quite a bit then and when she finally stopped, she wiped her eyes and said, “Harry, he’s taking his P.A to Paris for work. It’s work. And seriously, maybe what you need to do is let him go home after you do such a brilliant job of shortening his workdays.” She’d reached a hand across the table and gave him a little smile. “Maybe you need to keep some distance if you are really worried. I never want to see you being hurt, Harry.”

Harry took another drink.

“Have you been writing at all? Meeting any contacts.”

Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Gem, I’m not going to use Nick to get a different job.”

“You could get some freelance work?” she suggested. “Not much other type out there for writing after all, and imagine that, using your degree.”

“Just because _you_ write. Stop showing off.” Harry said and threw a Hula-Hoop at her face. 

By the time Harry had made it back to where he was moored up that fortnight on Hertford Union canal Harry had decided Gemma was right. Boundaries.

But here he is, mid-morning, confirming Paris travel plans and staring at Nick’s eyelashes whenever he’s able. There’s a noise at the door and Harry turns around to see Gordon, who works with Alexa in Marketing, hovering.

“Sorry, wanted to run a few things past you, Nick, get your initial thoughts about some fonts, but I can see you’re busy?”

He’s asking really. And this is the bit that is good about Harry working at Nick’s desk. It looks like they are having a meeting. And it’s very easy for Harry to pop out the front and pull Gordon, or whomever has stopped by to get Nick’s ‘initial thoughts’ or ‘gut reactions’, to things that can be dealt with by their own brilliant teams.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Harry says to Nick. He smoothly moves out to the foyer taking Gordon with him.

“Did you want to book in a time to see Nick?” Harry asks him, already reaching for the iPad he’s left on his own desk.

“No, no, I just pop by sometimes. It’s no trouble,” Gordon replies.

“Hey, I tried that coffee shop you recommended,” Harry tells him with a broad smile. “You were utterly correct; it is better than the one I’d been going to. Thanks, Gordon. I better get back in there to Nick, but thanks again.” Harry gives one last grin and turns to go back inside, this time unlatching the large glass door and letting it close behind him.

Nick’s slid his chair back and stretched his legs out with his feet resting on his desk. His arms are behind his head and Harry walks slowly back across the carpet. Desperately not thinking about how long Nick looks, the line of his torso under the crisp patterned shirt he is wearing today. He looks relaxed, but in control.

“I don’t _not_ want to talk to my staff you know, Harry,” Nick says with a quirk of his lips.

“Should I get him to come back?” Harry offers, but continues before Nick can reply. “ _Do_ you have initial thoughts about font use on the winter editorials?”

“Well, no, cheeky. I mean, it’s just words ‘innit? Can you have many thoughts about words?”

“I dated a graphic designer once. I think it’s all they thought about.”

“Really?” Nick sounds interested. “Not, ah, still seeing them then?”

“No, he started doing odd things.”

“He? Good to know,” Nick mumbles. “I mean, did he?”

“I woke up and he was measuring my nostrils.”

“What? That’s— What is that? I was going to say creepy, but it’s more than that, scary creepy.”

“He said,” Harry tries not to start laughing, “that he wanted to use the shape of my nostril for his bowl.”

“What! He’s proper barmy.”

“It’s what you call the closed part in a letter, like the ‘o’ in a font, a bowl.”

“Oh my god.” Nick starts laughing. “Right, send Gordon an email before my 11:30 meeting, I want Harry’s nostril font on the winter editorial please.”

“Yes, boss.” Harry grins.

™

Harry is double berthed this fortnight and getting his suitcase off his narrowboat and onto the tow path at 5:30am in the morning is a bit of a nightmare to be honest. He’s also wearing his new boots. Which he shouldn’t have. They are slippery underneath and there’s a moment stepping over his neighbour’s stern when he thinks he might end up spending his morning in the algae-filled canal, not on the Eurostar.

It’s a bus to Bethnal Green, change to the tube, then change at Holburn, and by the time Harry’s at Kings Cross and walking to St Pancras he’s getting a little worried about time.

Nick appears at the gate with fifteen minutes to spare. He’s carrying three suit bags and pulling a bright red Supreme x Rimowa case. Instead of asking him why on earth he hasn’t read any of Harry’s messages or answered any of his calls Harry instead says, “Don’t you have some sort of posh-for-Paris Louis Vuitton hardside luggage?”

“Yes, and a little case just for my watches and cufflinks?” Nick shakes his head and smiles. “Come on we’ll be late.”

It turns out if you’re in Business Premiere you can turn up ten minutes before departure. It also turns out that one of Nick’s dogs has eaten his phone charger so his phone ran out of battery during the night.

“She woke me up because she needed a wee, so in the end she saved the day. I would be asleep still,” Nick said, blowing at what looked like quite a watery filtered coffee.

“Breakfast tea, please,” Harry said to the server.

They are under the Channel by the time Harry starts to calm down and can process why he’s a bit worked up in the first place. He’s given Nick his own charger and Nick’s happily catching up on Instagram and his chats. Harry’s got the laptop open and is confirming schedules. They are making it for one Fashion Week show, having missed the others, but Nick has a lot of meetings scheduled regardless. He pulls at his lip and tabs over to maps, once more trying to work out if he’s allowed enough time between getting from the hotel to Celine tomorrow morning and then back to the hotel for a meeting with the partnerships manager from Sonia Rykiel.

“I don’t know why we can’t just go to them,” Harry mutters. “They are literally around the corner from Celine,” and then freezes.

Nick and he are sitting in the single sets of seats down the left hand of the carriage. They are facing each other, a table between them both and Harry’s been very careful with his leg placement. But Nick’s rubbing his leg on the inside of Harry’s ankle. Deliberately. Not an accidental tangle of too-long limbs under a little train table. He’s definitely deliberately rubbing the inside of Harry’s ankle and lower calf.

Harry looks up at him.

“You alright, Henry? Seem a bit worked up this morning,” Nick says.

Harry wants to tell him that comforting ankle rubs are not going to help this situation. Not that it’s sexy or something. Harry’s not worked up in that way. It’s just caring. And Harry’s a sucker for comfort.

“I want it all to go smoothly,” he says simply.

Nick smiles. “It won’t, there’s always some sort of fuck up. No show starts on time, no fashion house remembers every meeting we schedule in. I’ll get too drunk the night before whichever day you’ve booked in the earliest breakfast meeting.”

“Oh god, please don’t,” Harry groans. But he smiles back at Nick.

The Hoxton is lovely. Harry’s not stayed in any posh hotels. And it’s posh. But not in a condescending way. There is an issue in that they have given him the wrong room. Well, it’s possibly Harry’s fault. When he emailed to book Nick in the reply had been that they would reserve the standard booking for FasHUN for fashion week. Harry had just not accounted for the fact that the standard booking was for Aimee and Nick, not Nick and his P.A. So, Harry is in a very fancy room that is adjoining Nick’s directly.

When the attendant has left him alone, Harry sits down to remove his boots. Rolls his toes and curses his shoe related vanity. He opens the French doors that lead to a small terrace, high above a central courtyard, and then goes into the bathroom and almost bursts into tears. A bath. A beautiful, large roll-topped bath. Living on his uncle’s narrowboat means that for the past year the best showers Harry has are at the gym. Harry presses the plug down and turns on the taps immediately. He starts to pull off his t-shirt and undo his trousers all at once. The trousers are fine, they fall to the floor and Harry can step out of them easily enough. His t shirt gets tangled up in his sunglasses which were resting on top of his head and Harry stumbles back out to the bedroom to get his toiletry bag with his face covered by the inside of a vintage Rolling Stones graphic.

“Oh!” says Nick.

Harry freezes. And looks down to remember what underwear he put on this morning. Hopefully not the Topshop ones he’s had since uni that have barely any elastic left.

“Sorry,” Nick follows up with. Harry manages to pull his t-shirt free and his sunglasses fall off his head.

“I’m going to have a bath, they’ve got a bath, can you believe it?” Harry babbles. Nick’s apologised but he’s not moving. He’s out of his shoes as well and is holding a menu or something in his hand. He’s also staring at Harry.

Harry has found himself constantly lurching from happily, lightly flirting with Nick, to feeling confused and sometimes a little flustered around him. Not because of anything Nick does. Just because, well. That first time they’d met, before Nick knew who Harry was, the way Nick had said _‘If you’re going to call me sir, you’ll need a safe word to get me not to touch things’_ and there’s no part of Harry that wouldn’t have wanted to find everything behind that delicious opening. If he didn’t work for the man who’d said it. Sometimes they flirt a little, and Harry likes it. He likes flirting with everyone. But also, sometimes he ends up a sort of babbling distracted version of himself when he’s around Nick, and that’s the confusing part.

Right now, Harry acts on instinct and cocks his hip, turns his body slightly so it’s just a little bit elongated and smirks at Nick.

It’s gratifying to see him turn a bit pink as he finally meets Harry’s eyes. Fully aware he’s been caught out. But in that wonderful way Nick has, he starts laughing at himself. “You could definitely model if you wanted Harry. Jesus.”

Harry grins at him. “Even with these tattoos?”

“Yes. Those ones on your hips, um. Yeah.”

Harry wants. Wants to push it. He brushes a finger over the edge of one of the butterfly wings that he has tattooed on his stomach and then lets his hand rest very casually just under his nipple. It’s gratifying to watch Nick’s eyes track the movement.

“Some of them are quite silly,” Harry says. And moves his hand again, just because he can, runs it down and lets it sit on his hip.

“You. Um, I’m going to order some lunch before we have to get ready. Do you want anything?” Nick sounds a little dry mouthed. He’s still looking.

Harry realises he probably needs to end this already. It’s not just the _inappropriate to start feeling yourself up in front of your boss factor_ , it’s also that Harry likes to be on display. And likes to be praised. And Nick hasn’t said a lot of words. But he’s not subtle about looking at Harry either. Eyes moving from Harry’s legs and roaming over his body up to his face. His gaze is hot and Harry can feel it on his skin. It’s a turn on. And he can already feel the blood rush to his dick a little. He really doesn’t need to get a semi.

“Some salad, maybe some salmon and coffee, please,” Harry says.

“Yes. Good. I will order some lunch. Is that a tiger on your thigh? Brasil? Fuck. Sorry, Harry.” Nick looks him in the eye and runs a hand through his quiff. “Salmon,” he says and turns and walks back into his room.

Harry looks down and traces over the tiger on his thigh. Is it the worst thing if he goes and wanks in the bath within forty minutes of getting to hotel for a work trip while his boss who he utterly fancies is in the next room along?

Harry fishes his toiletry bag out of his suitcase, takes his phone and turns on his second ‘bath time playlist.’ When back in the now warm and foggy bathroom, the image of Nick’s eyes dark and heavy roaming over his body, Harry decidedly locks the door behind himself.

The Dior show is that first night. It’s futuristic, flashing lights and a lot of reflective surfaces, and Harry stands on his toes at the back of the rows of seats to try to catch every look Kim Jones sends out. Nick’s in the front row of course. After the show Harry is introduced to more people, he’s only met via fashion blogs, and Instagram and magazine pages.

They are all lovely. Harry knows fashion people can be snobby. He worked at Selfridges for a year. Before that he worked at a print magazine for sixteen months after he finished uni. It folded, of course. As print magazines do these days. But everyone he meets when he’s with Nick is lovely. It’s the power of Nick he thinks as he watches Nick pose for pictures with Elgar Johnston for GQ and Daisy Lowe.

“Come with us, Harry?” Asks Elgar when they are ready to leave. There’s an actress from Game of Thrones in the group now and Harry can’t. Boundaries. He can’t see any of the other assistants who were standing along the back wall with him during the show heading out with their bosses.

Harry makes excuses and ends up taking Nick’s car back to the hotel. He writes up his notes of who he saw Nick speak with and photographs the business cards he’d been given and saves it all in the calendar so there's always a record of who Nick met and where he met them. And then Harry goes to bed.

It’s noisy outside. Sounds of a city. And he should shut the French doors, it’s not a warm night. But he likes it. Reminds of of being at home on the boat, but somehow also makes him feel less like an island. 

™

On the fourth morning in Paris, Harry wakes up to Nick, with wet hair and a cup of tea in hand, sitting down on the edge of his bed. He rubs his eyes.

“Morning. I’ve just asked them to send up breakfast. Gillian says hello.”

“Oh,” Harry says bleary. That’s why Nick is awake:Skyping with Gillian.

“Do you know how many people we are hiring in Shanghai? It’s massive, Harry. Massive.”

Harry sits up and takes Nick in a bit better. He looks very bright eyed. But almost unsettled.

“How many teas and coffees did you have while you two had your meeting?” Harry asks and takes Nick’s cup, sipping at it himself.

“None. This is just the standard Friday morning freak out about how many people work for me now. Is it not on the schedule? You should pop it in as a recurring diary event.”

“Nick—”

“Anyway, what are these straps for on your headboard? I don’t have them in my room. Kinky bastard.”

Harry twists and looks at the bedhead. It’s soft brown padded leather, with a wood ledge on top of it and belts that connect the two. Harry hadn’t really thought about them until now, his attention in the room completely captured by the bathtub, the French doors to the terrace and the comfort of the mattress. Harry reaches out and slips his hand under one of the belts and then looks back to Nick. Suddenly realises what would happen if he slipped his other hand under the one on the other side. How he’d be spread open in front of Nick. He swallows.

Nick’s looking at him as if he knows exactly what he’s thinking.

“Exactly. You’d need to call me Sir after all wouldn’t you?” Nick says very lowly and takes his tea back from Harry’s other hand.

Harry opens his mouth and says nothing. He wants so badly to just turn and slip his hand under that far strap. Wants so much to just offer and see what Nick would do with him.

There’s a knock on the door of Nick’s room, muffled but audible through the open connecting door. And with the quickest little raise of an eyebrow, Nick gets up and goes to answer it.

Harry comes home from Paris with a new suitcase full of clothes, fashion houses are nothing if not generous to Nick and by proxy to Harry, and something heavy in his limbs. Some knowledge that what he's feeling isn’t as simple as fancying his boss. Nick’s off to Milan, and Harry is alone on the Eurostar staring out the window and thinking about the last two nights.

The night before, the last night in Paris, they’d been at a dinner at Monsieur Bleu, a restaurant that has a view of the Eiffel Tower from the other side of the Seine. When they’d left Nick had pulled him across the street to the footbridge across the river and taken Harry’s picture with the lit-up tower behind him.

“The romance, Harry!” Nick had exclaimed, arm held out. “You love it, don’t you? You are just the Paris romance type, I can tell.”

But Harry couldn’t answer. He’d loved the nice dinner. And the lovely people from Channel. And he was wearing a soft silk blouse with a lovely pussy bow collar and it was a crisp night, and the Eiffel Tower was lit up behind him. And no. Harry didn’t like the romance of it all. He’d liked the romance of the day and night they’d had before that one.

The penultimate day in Paris started with a morning mostly in traffic really, driving between meetings, but in the afternoon, Nick had arranged a tour of the French Institute of Fashion. It’d been Nick in his element. Engaged and interested. They’d met students and seen their work. Nick had stayed for so long in the pattern making workshops, expressing wonder at the maths and creativity alike.

On the way out of the foyer Harry had taken a brochure for the Master of Science Fashion and Luxury, as well as Instagram and online portfolio links for about ten different students. He’d been surprised when they’d arrived at the school. Nick had told him to block off the afternoon to go to the Institute, but Harry had assumed it was a meeting. Instead it was more like Nick was doing the tour for his own benefit. When they got back to the hotel that night Nick had flopped down on his bed and said while kicking his trainers off, “I fancy movies and a curry, what about you?”

And Harry had. They ordered curry and shared a very nice bottle of red. Harry brought in his pillows and they settled on Nick’s bed and watched Bridesmaids, Pretty Woman and an episode of Planet Earth because they couldn’t pick another movie. Nick was nice to watch stuff with. He didn’t mind when Harry made an observation about someone’s shoes or sang along with the soundtrack. Instead he joined in. Harry fell asleep next to Nick. When he’d woken up in the early light Nick had rolled over and they’d just smiled. Harry had got up. Had stumbled back to his room for a piss and then slept another forty minutes in his own bed until his alarm went off.

But _that_ was the romance he liked. The fulfilling day and the comfortable night.

™ ™ ™™ ™ ™

“I hate this coat you have, it’s so puffy,” PiIxie says while trying to hug him. She looks up when she’s got her arms around his shoulders. “You doing alright, Nick? You’ve been so busy lately.”

Nick kisses her forehead by way of an answer and says, “It’s my Christmas anorak, Pixie!” He zips himself up and waves goodbye. He hates this new gym they are all going to. It’s great. He’s never felt fitter. But fuck he’s sore. And is he doing alright? He’s not sure. New York was busy and it’s a week until Christmas and he misses Aimee and he can’t stop thinking about Harry and no, he’s probably not alright. But he’s not sure he gets to be not alright.

He pulls his phone out and ignoring all the probably pressing work related notifications, opens the one from Aimee.

_Look at her in this outfit, does she look like a tomato?_

Attached is a picture of Baby in a red onesie and a green beanie. Aimee and Ian are already over in the States with Aimee’s family for Christmas

 _A Christmas berry!_ Nick sends back with a lot of faces surrounded by hearts.

His car pulls up and Nick hops inside, reading an email with some overnight sales figures. By the time he makes it to the office he’s basically caught up, which is nice.

Niall is leaning on Harry’s desk, next to Harry who’s sitting in his chair looking up at him. Laughing. They’re always bloody laughing, these two.

“Niall, how are you?” Nick says loudly.

“Nick, mate. Good to see you. Cracking anorak that, look like a Gallagher brother.”

Nick huffs. “It’s my Christmas anorak.”

“I don’t think that’s a thing, Nick,” Harry says smiling at him.

“It is,” Nick insists, unzipping it. “It’s Vetements. Very festive, they are. Did you need me, Niall? Sorry if I’ve kept you waiting.”

“Oh no, I just popped up to see Harry, I best be off. I’ll see you in the divisional heads meeting this afternoon, Grimmy.”

Nick nods in farewell and picks up a pile of post before going through to his office. Harry follows him in.

“I have to go over to the party venue this afternoon and I’ll go home from there. I don’t think you need me tonight, do you? It’s a private thing?”

Nick looks up from where he’s rifling through the mail and lets it drop onto the desk. Sometimes he thinks he knows exactly what Harry is thinking. Other times he’s starkly reminded that no matter how much time they spend together, Harry is about as off limits as a person can be to Nick. This is an off limits moment. Harry’s nervous, or worried about something, but Nick probably won’t ever know what. 

Paris had been a bit too far, perhaps. When Nick got back from Milan, Harry changed a little. He stopped having dinner with Nick as often. They still do on occasion, but Harry will make excuses more often than not. He sits out of the office more, goes to eat lunch in the breakout areas, not in Nick’s office with Nick, ensconced in the sofa, Nick throwing cherry tomatoes at Harry’s mouth. Nick is nostalgic for cherry tomatoes.

“You could come.ome and meet Florence? Pixie will be there, and some others you know. Mairead really liked you when we bumped into her at the RCA the other week,” Nick says. It’s the truth, she did. Everyone likes Harry.

“I’d, um.” Harry folds his lips in.

“We’ve got Gucci in the samples room and I’ll get Henry to let you have the key?” Nick tries.

“I can’t say no to Gucci and Florence,” Harry says, and _there’s_ those damn dimples. It makes Nick far too happy to make Harry smile. He plays it cool and sits down at his desk, pulling that pile of mail over to him so he won’t fist pump or hiss out a ‘yess.’

By the time Harry arrives at the party Nick’s already had three drinks. His first thought when he sees Harry come into the room is that he better switch to water or it’s going to be hard to get through the night without telling Harry how much he wants to lick his collar bones.

Harry’s wearing a deep red velvet jacket and a low scooped striped t-shirt underneath.

“I like your shirt,” he says to Nick when he’s made it over to him. Nick’s in a green suit with a checkered shirt. He’s left the jacket somewhere and has his sleeves rolled up and a few buttons undone.

“It’s a sort of rough silk, want to touch?” Nick says and puts his chest forward. Harry looks at him amused.

“I’ll get a drink,” he says, but before he walks off, he does a double take, looks up at Nick from under his lashes and reaches a hand out. Fingertips first, he flattens his palm against Nick’s front. “Nice,” he comments and then walks off towards the kitchen.

Nick ends up talking to some people who have a bakery. They are starting to franchise it. There is a banker in the group as well. Someone talks about quarterly turnover and a lot of them keep looking at Nick as if he should have opinions about what they are saying. He doesn’t. He had heard them talking about cake. He doesn’t want to think about quarterly turnovers.

Mairead appears and takes him outside for a cigarette.

“You looked a bit stressed, Grim.”

“They were talking about business stuff,” Nick says pitifully. “I hate business stuff.”

“You made how much last year?” Mairead giggles.

“I don’t know, billion Euros or something. Well, not me, the website.”

“That’s a lot.”

Nick laughs. “You think.” He takes a drag on his fag. “How’s Arlo?” he asks to change the subject.

“Do you want to go?” Harry whispers in his ear about an hour later. And yeah. Nick really does. He’s stuck in a conversation he doesn’t want to be in. He normally has the best fun at Mairead’s. He doesn’t understand. The whole party seems to be full of bankers, and people who sit on boards of companies, and people talking about their bonuses, and about their bosses and about their work. Where are the people who just talk about plants or something?

Harry has Nick’s suit jacket, and he pulls him into the spare room and starts rummaging through the jackets on the bed.

“Did you bring your Christmas anorak?”

“No,” Nick says. He sounds far away to his own ears.

Harry stands up and says, “Okay, lets go. Want to come to mine?”

“Yes,” Nick answers.

They walk in silence for a while. At one-point Harry reaches out his hand and takes Nicks. He rubs the back of Nick’s hand with his thumb. It’s comforting Nick realises. He focuses on it.

“It’s just down here,” Harry says.

“I thought you lived in Hackney, or near there? Although first I thought you lived in Camden.”

“I’m in Little Venice for the winter, pretty lucky actually.”

“Are you housesitting?”

“Well. Sort of, I mean it is my Uncle’s, I've done a lot of work on it though, and he let me change the name.”

They walk a bit further along Maida Avenue until Harry stops and looks at the fence. “Here we go.”

“Harry. Do you live in the canal?”

“Not in the canal, I’m not a fish. On a narrowboat.”

“Oh my god, that’s why you are always moving, you sail a bloody boat around.”

“Well, it’s not a yacht. It just chugs along. It’s fucking annoying really, having to move. But I have a temporary residential mooring for winter so I get to stay in one spot until March,” Harry announces this as if he’s won a Fashion Council award and Nick feels like he’s supposed to congratulate him.

“I’m happy for you,” Nick says with a shrug.

“Thank you.” Harry beams, but the smile slips away. “So as I was saying, I’m not used to being in a residential mooring and I always forget the gate key.”

Nick looks at him. Enigmatic and gorgeous and of course he lives on a fucking canal boat that Nick has to climb over a fence to get to. “But you always have the pass to let me into the building?” Nick questions. 

“But that’s work,” Harry says simply as if that explains it all.

Nick sighs, eyes up the fence behind Harry again and says with resignation, “Okay, let's do it. You go first, that way if I slip and start rolling into the canal you’ll be in the way.”

“Well, there’s no duckweed in there at the moment at least,” Harry says cheerfully.

Nick doesn’t fall in. It’s actually easier pulling himself up than he expected and he thinks maybe the expensive, very hard work, gym is worth it after all. He’ll have to tell Pixie tomorrow. No. He won’t tell Pixie. Won’t tell Pixie he was climbing fences with Harry his P.A.

“So this is it, _The Racontour_ , you have permission to board.”

“ _The Raconteur_?” Nick repeats. 

Harry pulls at his lip hiding a very cheeky smile behind his hand. “It’s spelt T O U R at the end, because it _tours_ around,” he says. 

Nick groans.

“What? You called your dog Stinky-Blob.”

“I like literalness in names,” Nick says. “Not puns.” He’s still on the towpath. It’s not badly lit, lights from the footpath up above, and Harry’s switched on a little light where he’s standing.

“Come on, hop on the stern,” Harry encourages and holds his hand out. Nick takes it.

“Stern is this bit at the back?” Nick asks. “And, what’s this?” he asks, batting at a lever sticking out in the middle of the railing at the back of the boat.

“It’s the tiller, that’s how I steer. Come on, come inside and I’ll give you a tour.”

Nick copies Harry and ducks his head as they go down a few steps directly inside the door. They are inside a very neat little kitchen.

“Tour starts at the fridge,” Harry announces and pulls out a bottle of water which he hands to Nick. “Can you drink this? I probably shouldn’t have made you climb the fence so soon, but I thought the adrenaline might trick your body out of it.”

Nick realises he’s unbelievably thirsty, but also confused. “Out of what? He asks after he’s gulped down half the bottle.

Harry looks away and rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know, I felt like you were perhaps panicking or something in the party? You seemed really out of it and sort of sweaty and you kept playing with your rings, or scratching around your knuckles in circles.”

“Oh.” Nick doesn’t know what to say. His stomach feels heavy as if he’s in a divisional heads meeting or something, and he sucks a breath in. The party seems somehow so far away. He looks at the back of his left hand, his knuckles are a bit red. “Did I look a state?”

“No, not even like you’d had too many lines or something, nothing unusual for a party. I just noticed, that’s all.”

“Oh,” Nick repeats. He slips his jacket off and leaves it on the little table slotted in the corner. Harry has turned on the lights now. Everything is very neat, light-coloured wood and light blue painted walls. It feels warm and calm. There is a high shelf that runs around the top of every wall and there are books and plants all along them. and across from the table with banquet seating is a tiny wood burning stove.

“So,” Harry says brightly, as if he’s changing the subject. “The tour. This is my kitchen, and dining table. Got a proper cooker, storage under the banquet seats there, hatch window above that which is lovely when your eating in the summertime.” Harry keeps up his stream of chatter as Nick follows him down to a narrow hall. “Bathroom, no tub, but I have a shower and toilet, pump out which is not the most fun. Water tank holds 150 gallons, so I have to admit I shower at the gym a lot.”

It’s tiny, but neat and clean as well. There’s a lovely healthy fern hanging high up beside a round window. A porthole, he supposes. “I can’t believe you live on a bloody boat.” He shakes his head.

“And, here is the bedroom,” Harry says and makes a dramatic reveal gesture with his arm. Nick squeezes past him into a room painted in light blue like the kitchen. The bed is pushed up against the far wall, underneath a narrow set of Frenchdoors. There’s built in storage behind where Nick and Harry are stood. A very impressive sort of wardrobe situation that Nick thinks is deeper than first impressions would give.

“Ah,” Harry says when Nick steps a little closer. He looks delighted, his dimples out in full force. “I made that. There was space for a washing machine, so I got rid of that and made a shuffle-in wardrobe.” He raises his eyebrows and grins waiting for Nick’s reaction.

“Shuffle-In?” Nick arches an eyebrow. “I get it, Harry.”

“Because you can’t walk, but you can shuffle.” Harry looks too proud of himself. “I have a little dresser here, too.” Harry opens a cupboard next to his shuffle-in wardrobe. The doors slide back into the cavity and built into the wall is one of those Hollywood mirrors and drawers from the ground up to an open bench space. Harry has lotions and other various little things on the flat surface. Nick picks up a fluffy make-up brush.

“Wow. Did you build it then?”

“No, no. Would hammer my thumb or something. That was all here before. I installed the mirror when I made the shuffle-in. That used to be the only hanging space.” Harry points to the open space where the mirror is.

“I mean, not much need for a large wardrobe on the canals is there?”

“Hanging space is important wherever you are, Nick.”

Nick smiles at Harry. “I have about three wardrobes, I am not going to argue.” He reaches out his hand and softly runs the brush over Harry’s cheek. “So, where do you wash your clothes?”

“Um, well everything I own is dry-clean only anyway. Suits get brushed off, um, I did take the dishwasher out of the kitchen and put in a washer-drier in instead. Does drain the battery though. Why are we talking about this? Do you want to have a smoke?”

Nick stops swirling the little brush around and blinks at him.

“Yeah.”

Harry gives Nick a wonderful soft hoodie and some joggers. He goes to the bathroom while Nick gets changed, shoving his boots into a corner. Unsure what to do with his trousers he eventually leaves them on Harry’s bed. He can hear Harry in the kitchen, so he goes to the bathroom himself. Takes a piss and washes his hands. Pats water over his cheeks and looks at the wrinkles by his eyes.

When he goes back into the bedroom Harry is pulling his own pair of joggers up over his bare arse.

“Shit!” Nick says. “Sorry, I always walk in on you.”

“I don’t mind,” Harry says, “Used to always get in trouble running around in my pants, or less, when I was at uni.”

“What, streaking across the quad?”

“Noo, my share house. Never minded being naked,” he says this while pulling a knitted jumper over his head. It looks soft and has some thread loose at one of the cuffs. “I brought your jacket in and hung it with your trousers and shirt.”

“Thanks, Harry.”

“Sit on the bed, I’m going to switch on the lights.”

 _Of course_ Harry has little fairy lights hung around the little doorway out to the front of the boat, and once he’s turned off the overhead light and switched these on instead, he comes and sits cross legged next to Nick with a little metal box.

“I used to get high a lot more, don’t so much now that I'm older.”

“You’re twenty-five.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m thirty-four, Harry,” Nick says with all the desperate gravitas this statement of fact deserves.

Nick watches as Harry opens a small container and taps some little lumps of pot into a grinder. He’s slow in every movement. Licking and folding the paper, smoothing the centre fold with an index finger decorated with chipped baby blue polish. He carefully taps the ground-up pot into the crease he’s formed.

“Put your phone in, I’ve got a charger speaker thing up on that shelf.” Harry nods towards the high shelf. Nick stands up carefully and flicks through his music. Feels like when he was fifteen and John McGovern came back to his after school one day and Nick had snuck into his brother Andy’s room to get his CD’s because they were much cooler than anything Nick owned. John McGovern had spent the afternoon telling Nick that the Prodigy sucked and how hot Hannah from S Club 7 was. Nick puts on Jorja Smith and sits back down.

Watching Harry smoke is good because Nick feels like he’s allowed to look at him unabashedly. He takes in the way Harry shuts his eyes when he inhales, he allows for their fingers to brush every time they pass the joint between them. He watches the glow of the cherry, and pays attention to the heat and scratch of the smoke as it goes down his throat to his lungs.

They smoke two joints and then Harry moves the pillows so they rest just where the sill of the doorway is. Harry had opened them before he lit up, apologising for the chill but Nick doesn’t think it made that much difference to the temperature. There’s gaps in the door anyway.

“Stick your legs up and out,” Harry says, voice scratchy. 

Nick shuffles down the bed and does what he’s been told.Harry puts his duvet over them, and they lay there, staring out and up at the branches of the trees that line the footpath and overhang the canal.

“I didn’t realise it was a panic thing,” Nick says.

“It happens at work too, doesn’t it?” Harry asks. “I noticed once or twice. Don’t think anyone else does. It’s just that I watch you —” he breaks off and makes a sort of sighing laugh. 

“Yeah, I think so. I get a bit worried. Overwhelmed.”

“You are,—” Harry stops short again and takes a deep breath. “I don’t think I should say what you are, but you are good, Nick.”

Nick lets the silence take Harry’s words away. Lets them take his own admission away. In the coming weeks he’ll think about what he’s finally said. That he finds it overwhelming. But not now. Now he breathes out a little puff of air. Condensation.

“It’s cold,” Harry observes.

Nick turns his face and looks at Harry’s nostrils. “I’d never measure your nostrils,” he tells him.

Harry turns to face him. “No?”

“I shouldn’t have said that about the bed in Paris,” Nick says.

Harry's eyes dip down to his lips and back. “I think about it.”

Nick wishes he had the strength of character to change the subject by making a joke about Harry always thinking about interior design choices or something. But he doesn’t.

“What do you think?” he asks instead.

“I think about being kept still, about you there,” Harry’s breath hitches. “Watching. I think about you watching.”

“I like touching as well, Harry,” Nick says. He twists on his side fully, runs a finger down Harry’s cheek. “I think about touching you a lot. Too much.”

“We can’t touch?” Harry says it like a question, but Nick thinks it’s also a statement. They both know.

“Probably can’t get stoned and get into bed with each other or make suggestions about beds being suitable for a bit of bondage, or, fuck I don’t know, anything we do.”

Harry looks at his lips again and Nick thinks if Harry does it, if Harry moves forward now Nick won’t say no. He’ll not stop him. But Harry doesn’t. He sits up instead and goes to close the door. Nick pulls his feet back inside and Harry passes him the pillows.

When they are back in place, proper in bed together but still facing the doorway, Harry says. “I have the most fun with you. Not just as a boss, and you are a great boss. But when we have dinner, or just sitting working and sometimes joking around —” he takes a deep breath, “I like watching you do your job. Watching you talk to people and encourage them.”

Nick feels a bit squirmy, he shakes his head even though Harry can’t see him as such. “I don’t feel like I deserve praise for just never shutting up. And, that’s all I do really innit? Talk a lot. Talk too much.”

Nick can hear that Harry’s smiling when he interrupts him. “You are talking too much now. Take a compliment.”

Nick swallows his instinct to keep rebutting Harry’s words and Nick lets it settle. Feels the weight and warmth of the blanket, tightens and let’s go of his calf muscles and his knees. He reaches up and scratches at his scalp, feels the warm tendrils that being stoned allows to flow from his scalp down his neck to his back.

“Thank you, Harry,” he says finally.

Harry’s hand finds his under the duvet.

“Did I tell you about the time my sister stole a kilogram bag of mini Easter eggs?”

“Ohh,” Nick says and rolls over to look at Harry again, “Do you have chocolate?”

Harry sits up, smirk in place. “Oh my god, to the kitchen. Nutella toast and crisps!”

™

Nick wakes up dry mouthed and a little bit overheated, ensconced in hoodie and duvet and with Harry’s warm body pressed against his. It’s bittersweet. Nick knows now that nothing is going to happen between them. There was that moment last night when he thought if Harry moved he would too, but Harry didn’t.

Nick’s willing admit that the way he feels is far more than thinking Harry is fit, or the fact that Nick has to physically make himself stop thinking about all the ways he wants to take Harry apart. The thrumming under his skin when Harry is around; the way Harry has become what he looks forward to at work. The fact that he himself deliberately rushes through events in the evening hoping that Harry will agree to come to tea together. And Nick is spending more time in the office doing things like reading reports and replying to correspondence, things that he used to do at home or on the road. These are all just ways that he tries to eek out more time with Harry. 

Harry’s more than ‘just Nick’s type.’ He’s who Nick wants. And, Nick is his boss.

Harry gets up and showers and dresses. Nick pretends to be asleep. Finally he feels Harry sit on the edge of the bed and touch his shoulder. So he pretends to wake up. Blinks up at Harry and yawns.

“You want a shower?”

“I can shower at work,” Nick says.

“Well let’s go, I have to let my nightmare of a boss in the building so I can’t be late.”

Having changed into a suit he has hanging in the office wardrobe, Nick messages the dog walker to see if she can go earlier to check on Pig and Stinky and heads to his first meeting.

It’s not a fun one. Poor results from some newer beauty lines and an influencer who seems to be important to marketing has been involved in some sort of scandal. In the same meeting with marketing they start talking about Revolve and how to compete in that market and Nick has to interrupt, which he hates doing unless it’s so he can make a joke. Instead he’s reminding them that what fasHUN does is fun but classic and not about Instagram as a priority, and that no, they will not be staging an event at Coachella.

After that is a marathon meeting with a group from Human Resources about the revamped Personal Development program and another meeting with I.T that largely goes over Nick’s head, he’s utterly done in by the time he gets back to his office very late in the day.

“I hate L.A,” he announces as he walks in.

Harry is sitting on one of the sofas. His strong brow is furrowed as he types away, a pair of glasses pushed up into his hair.

“You should come with me, though, I’d make you like it,” he says distractedly.

“You going to take me to Los Angeles are you, Harry?” Nick asks, coming to stand directly in front of him. He hasn’t seen Harry all day and something spikes in his stomach that Harry is distracted now. “Sweep me off to make me love avocados?”

Harry finally closes his laptop and looks up at Nick. “You love avocados. Have them all the time, you do.” Harry pulls his glasses off the top of his head and puts them and his laptop down next to him.

“Maybe I just eat them for you. Maybe they are just another thing you’ve made me like.”

Harry runs his eyes down Nick’s body, he seems to pause at Nick’s crotch and Nick realises that this whole standing in front of him while Harry is seated thing is probably a little off. He’s about to move, but Harry does first. He leans back slowly, a hand on either side of him. “Anything else I could make you like, do you think Nick?” he says and spreads his legs out and lets them fall open a little.

Nick’s frozen, he thinks Harry’s joking. Maybe. But his shirt is pulled tight across his chest, and Nick’s eyes are drawn to the bulge in his soft wide-leg trousers, up to the skin of his neck. Then to his damn mouth.

He swallows. “Harry,” he croaks out. “Fuck, we shouldn’t.”

Harry stands up. His mouth is just gently parted and he doesn’t stop looking directly at Nick as he steps into Nick’s space.

“I know. I know we shouldn’t, but, also we should. Today's been horrid, I should have just done it last night. Keep thinking all day how that's it, It'll never happen now, and I want it - want _you_ , Nick." 

Nick's stomach flip-flops. "It could happen," he says hoarsely.

" _Nick,_ ” Harry repeats. Saying Nick’s name like he’s asking a question; asking permission and giving it as well.

“Harry,” Nick replies. Not much more than a breath.

Harry pauses just before their lips meet, gives Nick that one last moment and then kisses him.

Every little bit of Nick’s resistance give way all at once. He puts his hands on Harry’s hips and spins them both around, backs Harry up until his knees hit the other sofa and pushes him down on it. Their kissing is equally needy. Harry moans into Nick’s mouth and Nick slides his tongue against Harry’s and cups his cheek softly, spreading his hand out over the tiny rough points of Harry’s facial hair. Harry’s mouth is wet and sweet, and tastes of faint traces of milky tea. He chases after Nick when Nick tries to pull away and so they kiss more.

They aren’t very stable on the sofa, and Nick’s dick is painfully hard in his pants already. So he finally pulls away from Harry. Takes pleasure in the spit wet lips and half lidded eyes that look back at him.

“Want to move you up a bit, is that okay?” Nick asks. 

Harry nods and shuffles up the sofa. Nick settles in between his legs and wraps a hand around one Harry’s wrists, holding it up above his head. Harry arches upwards and Nick stops to kiss him. He lets his hips settle on top of Harry’s and the kiss slow and deep. They move against each other in a matching rhythm. Harry uses his free hand to pull Nick’s shirt free from his belt and scratches at Nick’s back as he touches him. 

Nick thinks this might be enough. It’s very secondary school, but he could possibly get off with Harry like this. Rubbing against each other on a sofa. 

Nick fumbles with the top buttons of Harry’s shirt and sucks at his neck and his collarbone. Salty skin and the scent of spice from his cologne. Nick’s not being delicate enough probably but he can’t help himself. Runs his teeth over a spot where Harry’s neck meets his collarbone that makes Harry gasp and press up against him. Nick scrapes his teeth along Harry’s chest, gets some pink in amongst the dark ink of his tattoos.

“I like that,” Nick tells the birds and looks up at Harry’s face. His lips pinker than ever and eyes dark. “I like seeing where I’ve been on you.” Nick tells him.

Harry moans a little. “Nick, touch me,” he pleads. Nick brings a thumb up and starts brushing it over Harry’s nipple, using the fabric of his shirt to rough it up a little.

“Is that what you want, Harry?” he asks.

In answer Harry clutches at his back as if he’s trying to push Nick’s hips harder against him. Harry’s dick is long, hard and poking into some part of Nick’s pelvis. Nick wants to touch it. Taste. 

“I want to see you Harry,” he tells Harry’s collarbone. “Want to suck you off, love. Would that be okay?”

“I want to suck _you_ off. I think about it, think about getting under your desk.”

Nick groans. “Harry, you dirty—” He’s cut off by Harry pushing back against him. Kissing him all while making Nick sit up. “Let me, Nick. Want to do it here, let me,” he whispers into Nick’s mouth between kisses. And then drops to his knees in between Nick’s legs.

Nick thinks he can hear his own heart pounding in his chest. Harry sits back on his haunches and looks up, mouth open, tongue darting out to lick his lips. “Undo your belt,” he tells Nick. He starts to do the same. Nick swallows and hopes his hands don’t tremble. He lets his trousers fall open and lifts his arse up from the sofa so they can fall down his legs. “Pants too, please,” Harry says.

It’s a bit awkward, and Nick wants to laugh, wants to point this out. But before he can Harry moves in closer, runs his hands up Nick’s now bare thighs and stretches his neck up. Nick bends forward and kisses him for as long as Harry allows.

When Harry pulls away he smirks at Nick. It’s the most annoying and the sexiest thing that he does and Nick hates that it turns him on so much. Holding his gaze Harry licks a stripe across his hand and then wraps his hand around Nick’s dick. Nick hisses, bucks up into Harry’s hand. He’s been hard for too long. Harry thumbs over the pre-come on the head of Nick’s cock spreading it around a little, toying with Nick’s foreskin.

When Harry takes him in his mouth Nick can’t help himself. His hand shoots out he clutches at the back of Harry’s head. He feels the faintest graze of Harry’s front teeth as he pulls off, his mouth curving in a satisfied smile at Nick’s reaction. But then he slides his hand down the length of Nick’s dick and follows it with the white heat of his mouth and Nick almost chokes when he sucks in breath of air.

Nick tries to document the sensations almost. The slight roughness of the sofa covering under his bare thigh, the darkness of Harry’s eyelashes on his cheeks. The eager way he pushes down on Nick’s dick until he has to pull back, gasping for air. And then how he goes back for more immediately. 

“You’re so good, Harry. Fuck,” Nick babbles. “Love your mouth, look at you, take me so well, love.”

It sounds like Nick is in control, but he’s the furthest thing from controlled that he’s ever felt. 

Harry pulls away and licks deliberately at the head of Nick’s cock, making Nicks legs twitch in response. When Harry takes him deeper again he looks up at Nick, eyes wet. 

“Harry, going to make me come, love. Do you want that, want me to come in your mouth? Nick gasps out. 

Harry moans encouragingly and doesn’t pull off. Nick drops his hand from Harry’s face to his shoulder. Makes an effort not to fuck up into Harry’ mouth. There’s that pooling of pleasure that seems to both creep and also suddenly be there and Nick calls Harry’s name one last time to warn him. He comes, his hips moving involuntarily with each pulse of his orgasm. Harry swallows, but then pulls off a little with his tongue out and Nick pulses white against the pink of it. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Nick can barely breathe. He takes his dick in his hand and rubs the head of it on Harry’s lips. Harry licks at him once or twice but Nick pulls away. “Too much,” he says with an almost giggle. “Holy Fuck. Harry, what do you want, what do you need?” 

Harry’s standing up, his fist flying over his own dick, and Nick wants to do that. Nick wants to be allowed touch him finally.

“Don’t need much. So fucking hot, loved that, going to come,” Harry manages to get out. 

Nick drops off the edge of the sofa himself so he’s on his knees and holds his own mouth open. Harry comes almost straight away. His back arching and eyes screwed shut as he gasps. A hand clutching painfully at Nick’s shoulder and his come hot and bitter on Nick’s tongue.

Nick swallows it and goes back for more, licks out like Harry just did to him and sucks gently at the head of Harry’s cock, bringing him down.

Harry laughs softly as he sinks to his knees. Takes Nick’s face and kisses him. He tastes like sex and everything more. When they pull apart Nick drops his head to Harry’s collar bone. Kisses it and mutters his name into his skin.

By the time they’ve righted themselves. Disheveled clothes done up and sweaty foreheads patted at with tissues, Harry looks pale and a little _too_ undone. And the reality is settling over Nick. They did that, in his office. He’s a sleazy boss getting off with his P.A after hours. But he’s not. It’s not a plot line in Hollyoaks. It’s Harry. Nick doesn’t know what’s going to happen, or how or if this can work. But he knows it won’t ever if he lets Harry leave now. And it won’t ever if they stay here in the office. And he wants it to.

“I want you to come over to mine, if you’d like?” Nick says. He feels hot behind his eyes to say it, feels like the shape if his mouth might betray how much this all means to him. “I mean, we could go to yours, but I miss my dogs and, well. I really want to spend a bit more time together if you’d like to.”

Harry looks past him for a moment and then nods. “Yeah, that’d be okay.”

™ ™ ™™ ™ ™

Nick’s house is lovely. It’s not as big as Harry had imagined. It’s still a large, a large Victorian terrace. But Harry has pictured some sort of very intimidating Holland Park grandeur. Instead it’s warm and cosy. Dark rich colours on the wall and objects and books and furniture that’s been placed by design. 

Despite the lovely surroundings, Harry feels awkward. 

They’d been super quiet, especially for them, as they packed up the things they needed from the office and went down to get a car. It had been about twenty minutes to drive to Nick’s house at that time of the evening and Harry slipped too deep into his own thoughts to think of making conversation.

He knew Nick well enough, trusted him utterly to know that if Nick had done something physical with Harry, he had to mean something more than just a fuck.

But the position they were both in, and where they had just done what they did. Fuck. Harry was not careless often. But god he went big when he was.

He’s standing in the entrance way of Nick’s house now, craning his neck to peer into what looks like Nick’s sitting room. When they arrived, Nick had opened the door, turned off the alarm and said he ‘had to go and let the dogs in.’

Harry could have followed, but he’s thankful for a moment to be alone. He drops his Gucci Ophidia briefcase (that his old boss François had given him as a farewell gift) gently on the floor by a slim table. God. Bosses.

“Harry!” Nick calls out from somewhere down the hallway. “Come and meet the dogs!”

Harry’s seen the dogs on Nick’s instagram, and in the pictures on his desk at work. They are both very interested in who Harry is. They have a good sniff of his trousers and the larger one, Pig, jumps up and has a good sniff of his crotch.

“Oi, Pig, get out of it,” Nick tells her and then grins at Harry gleefully. “Wanna have a shower?”

Harry swallows. “Together?”

Nick’s smile softens. “I’d fucking love to get you all soapy and wet under the hot water, Harry.” He steps forward and hangs his arms over Harry’s shoulders, kisses him sweetly on the mouth. “But, I think maybe we should wait.

Harry nods, “Me too,” he says pleased. He kisses Nick back, simple and curious. “I’ll say yes then.”

“So, I know how much you love a tub,” Nick says opening the door and turning on the lights in a large bathroom. The tiles have a soft grey and white colour palette and the copper tapware is clean and shiny. 

“Ohh,” Harry says. “Bit posh, Nick.”

“Posh!” Nick shakes his head. “Nowt posh about me kid. If that’s what you fancy though got all kinds of dead posh soap stuff over there too,” Nick says Northern accent overemphasised. “If you want a bath I’ll bring you up a posh cup of tea as well.”

“Will I have to stick my pinky out when I drink it?” Harry goes over to inspect Nick’s bottles of things. He picks up a bottle of Le Labo body wash and turns around to face Nick. He has that slightly tired look on his face that always makes Harry determined to make life easier for him. Except something clutches at his stomach, that the thing making Nick look like that is probably him. This situation.

Harry should go. He should tell Nick he’ll resign and he should go home to his boat. And then sail somewhere. Live on the canals forever. 

Nick cocks his head to the side. “Harry, I can see you thinking and I don’t know what you’re thinking but,” Nick breaks off and rubs at his face. Sighs deeply before squaring his shoulders and looking up at Harry again. “Look, I don’t know what you’re thinking or feeling but I just, I need a moment or two but I need you to know that whatever you want, is what I want and I’d never pressure you into anything, I hope I haven’t, fuck. But if you don’t want what I want that’s fine—”

“Nick,” Harry interrupts. “What _do_ you want?”

Nick swallows but doesn’t look away when he answers, “I want you. I want to be with you properly.”

™ ™ ™™ ™ ™

“Where is he?” Aimee practically yells at Nick.

“Shh! He’s in the shower upstairs but that doesn’t mean he won’t bloody hear you being all loud American.”

“You called me, honey,” Aimee drawls. “I’m thrilled Nick, seriously, thought he was just your type —”

“Don’t fucking say it, everyone fucking says that.”

“Well, do you say it, Nick?” Aimee asks, serious all of a sudden.

Nick nods. “What do I do about work?”

“Get him another job, one where he doesn't report to you,” Aimee says straight away.

“You won’t all be annoyed at me?”

“What on earth for?”

“Having to find me a new P.A?”

Aimee’s brow furrows. “Nick, I don’t want to cause you to feel panicked but this is the most commitment you’ve shown another man, ever. He matters that much to you that you’d take that risk, which I have to say as your co-CEO was dumb, but as your best friend, was brilliant.”

Nick rubs under his eye. “I know, I know. It was a dumb risk.”

“No, it was brilliant. You are brilliant,” Aimee says. “Now, what did he do at uni again? Something to do with writing. Can he go to work in content?”

Nick looks at her for a moment. “He could, or, what if I spoke to Edgar? Is it bad to ask your mate to employ your perhaps boyfriend?”

Aimee laughs. “Yeah, probably. I think honestly you should set up an interview, let Harry stand on his own two feet. Transfer him over to content so he’s reporting line changes to Alexa. Do that tomorrow.”

Nick wanders over to the big island in the kitchen and finds the back of an envelope and a pen and scribbles down Aimee’s course of action. By the time he’s got them all scribbled down Baby starts crying in the background and Aimee is looking over her shoulder.

“Ian will bring her in soon if she doesn’t settle, she’s due a feed.”

“Lovely Baby. She’ll be so grown when you all get home, I won’t know her.”

“You’ll always know her, Nick,” Aimee says, with that disarming traite she has of oscillating from laughter to raw emotion in a moment. “Also, I want to say. Now isn’t the time. But in the New Year, do you want to talk about what you want to do next?”

Nick looks away for a moment. “What do you mean,” he hedges.

“I mean, I think you know you are ready to do something else, and you can’t step away, or sideways or what have you, while I’m on maternity leave, but I want to hear all about even the most vague plans soon alright. We made this happen based on an accident and your desire for meeting models and my desire to be able to shop without leaving my office. We can make anything happen, Nick.”

“We also had that bank loan Sadie sorted,” Nick quips, but he’s blinking and wiping at his eyes and after a moment says seriously, “Yeah, yeah I do feel that. Thank you Aimees.”

Ian opens the door then, with a red faced screaming version of lovely Baby in his arms and Aimee does a double take and just says, “Byeee,” and ends the facetime. Nick looks at the screen of his phone for a moment and then goes to fill up the kettle.

_"_ Um, what is this list Nick?” Harry asks. Nick’s rummaging through the fridge while singing along to BBC 6 and hadn’t heard him come in. He pops a grape in his mouth and turns around. “ _Move to marketing. Change direct line of report immediately. Ask if okay to send resume to Edgar at GQ. Does H have sample pieces?"_ Harry reads off the back of Nick's unopened gas bill.

“I spoke to Aimee, got a bit of advice about what to do in case you agree to date me.”

“Nick, I already said I want to, but these things, it’s so complicated.”

“When Ian and Aimee got together, Ian left and set up a whole other financial advisement company. I was just going to see if you wanted to work in content production, working on the blogs and articles we host on the site. It’s important, they drive views to the website from people in the database that might not be specifically looking to buy something but will click through from an article.”

Harry snorts a little and comes around the island to the kettle. “Wow, apparently you did pay attention when whoever in marketing explained that to you,” he says, far too entertained. He’s wearing a jumper and joggers that Nick left out for him, and his hair is wet and combed back. His eyes are a bright green.

“I want this a lot. Us a lot. And, I don’t want you to sacrifice anything, and I don’t want you to feel forced into anything, and I want to always do what I can to support you, but also not overpower you...” Nick trails off. Harry has turned around and is waiting for him to finish. 

“You’ve been really open about this, and I appreciate that. I tend to let things fester sometimes. This is very different”

Nick laughs. “It’s spectacularly different for me. I hate all sorts of serious conversation."

“I know,” Harry says simply. “Which is why I do honestly appreciate this, and it's fucking flattering actually, must really want to get in my pants if you're willing to write a list and send me to work for Alexa. Also, I'm not going to say no to you sending my resume to GQ. My sister is scary and she'd be far too cross with me if I did. Plus, I am ambitious. And I'm learning introductions are only one part of the equation."

Nick smiles. "Hey, with our advertising spend I can introduce you to Mr Enninful and ask him to read your words, but they have to be good."

Harry's eye's narrow a little and he raised his eyebrows. "They're good," he flips the switch on the kettle with a emphatic slap of his hand. "But, Nick I’m knackered, you are too. Let's make tea and take a packet of biscuits and go to bed and watch a movie. We need to sort out so many things. But first, I want to recreate the real romance of Paris but this time with more kissing and hopefully penis touching.”

“The romance of Paris?”

“Watching movies and cuddles.” Harry steps forward and kisses him. His body all pressed in against Nick’s and his mouth slick and perfect.

When they seperate Nick nods. “Okay, the romance of Paris was movies and room service. Good to know.” Nick kisses Harry again. Just because he can. Harry’s standing in his arms and has his face turned up and he’s not going to fight with Nick about what to do to create a situation where they can be together and Nick can kiss him. 

They kiss for a while this time. The just boiled kettle is forgotten and Harry makes delicious little moans and clutches Nick’s shoulders as Nick drops his hands down from Harry’s hips and grabs a lovely handful of his arse. 

“We should recreate the bedhead in Paris as well,” Harry whispers. And Nick backs Harry up against the kitchen island, the rings Harry always wears clink against the marble and Nick spreads his hands over Harry’s to keep them in place, and rewards his eager open mouth with a demanding deep kiss.

Harry shifts his legs slightly. He rolls his hips to meet Nick’s and Nick can feel his dick starting to fatten up in his trousers. He’s reminded that he’d quite like to have a quick shower before anything else.

He pulls away and Harry makes a disatisified moan. “I want to have a shower,” Nick explains apologetically. 

“You need to have a shower,” Harry mutters, and then smirks, pleased. “You need to have a shower because you smell like a fash- _bum_.”

“A what? A fash _bum_?” Nick groans. Shakes his head all while Harry tries to kiss him again. "No, no, no, no kisses for you, no kisses for you.” 

Harry’s wide smiling mouth is best silenced with kisses though. Only way to stop him from making more dreadful puns. So Nick lets go of Harry’s hands, cups his lovely face with both hands and kisses him once more.

™ ™ ™™ ™ ™

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I'm [silveredsound](https://silveredsound.tumblr.com/post/186449784870/fashun-by-silveredglass-rating-explicit-words) on tumblr if you'd like to chat.  
> This fic must live here and here alone.


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